Power of Three (15 page)

He found Ceri and Ayna among the grasses and the mist by the panting and rustling they made. Then he realized they should have scattered, when it was too late. The Dorig were jumping out of the window. They could tell by the storm of buzzing above, and Dorig voices spitting out more bad words. They all three gave unhappy chuckles as they ran. Good old bees!

They ran, trying to put as much distance between themselves and the Dorig as they could before the mist cleared. But they had already run a long way, completely uselessly, inside Garholt. Before they had run half a mile, their chests burned and their legs ached and they were forced to drop to a trot. Almost at the same time, the mist cleared, drifting off in shreds, lying only on pools and dikes, and leaving the Moor in full yellow daylight. They all turned round to see what their situation was.

It was not good. As soon as they saw Garholt, already become one of the line of hills at the Moor's edge, pale green and misty still, they knew they had set off into the marshes at quite the wrong angle to have a hope of catching up with the hunt. And the Dorig were hot on their trail. They could see a cloud of bees above the grass and a glint of silver scales.

“Help!” wailed Ceri.

They forced themselves into a run again, hoping the bees could delay the Dorig until they could hide somewhere. But there was nowhere to hide. They splashed through wet peat, and beat through long grass. A spinney of reedy trees ahead gave them a slight hope, but it proved to be more open than the grass when they reached it. They thrust among the trees, looking wildly over their shoulders and going slower and slower whatever they did. The Dorig were still behind and catching up steadily. The white glint of them was closer every time they looked. There were few bees left now. They had stung and died and defended their owners, and they seemed to have delayed the Dorig not at all.

Beyond the spinney, they burst out into a place where the marsh grass had died and lay blond as hair around a peaty little pool. Ayna stopped, scarlet-faced and croaking for breath.

“I know. One of you get me a thorn tree. Quick!”

The boys were too blown to think. They struggled obediently back to the spinney. Gair seized a little bush, and he and Ceri wagged at it with limp, tired arms until it came free. They could see the Dorig in a shimmering gray group at the other side of the spinney as they took the thorn tree back to Ayna.

“
Endeftala vithy dan
,” Ayna was saying when they reached her. “Thanks.
Endeftala tala dan
. Get in the pool, both of you.” She dipped the branches of the tree in the brown, inch-deep water and shook the drops back in. “
Deftala deftala
.”

“What are you doing?” panted Ceri.

“Making it safe. Get in and don't interrupt,” said Ayna. “
Tala tala tala. Dan in endef
. I said get
in
, Gair.
Deftala
.” She jammed the thorn tree in the ground at the edge of the pool, seized her staring, panting brothers each by a shoulder and dragged them, splashing and stumbling, into the center of the water. “Don't be idiots. They can't get us here.”

“Oh no,” said Ceri. “So they can't. That was clever.”

Through the trees of the spinney, the Dorig saw them standing still. Their pointed heads turned to one another, nodding. They shimmered and shrank. Nine black birds flew up from the ground there, flapped over the trees and coasted down beside the pool. A gust of cold air made the children shiver as the birds each piled into a gray pillar and became tall Dorig again.

“They've made the water bad!” one said disgustedly.

“That won't help them much,” said the one who seemed the leader. He folded his silver-plated arms and glided as near as he could come to the pool, which was about two yards from the thorn tree. They were fascinated and pleased to see that the left side of his face was swollen and almost as red as their own hot faces. His left eye was a fat yellow slit. “Come on out,” he said. “You can't get away, so there's no point staying there.”

“And you can't get us,” said Ayna. “We're not leaving here until you go away.”

The leader shrugged. “As you please. I suppose we'll sit it out then.”

They watched helplessly while the Dorig, who were all stung somewhere on their faces and looking rather irritable, spread out in a ring round the pool. Most of them sat down. Two of them slung their shields behind them and lay down, with the shield as a pillow. Three or four pulled at their fingers and presently stripped off gloves made of gray-glinting scales. Their hands underneath were pale flesh-colored. Gair wondered if the rest of the silver scales came off the same way.

“Well?” said the leader. “Coming out?”

“Certainly not,” said Ayna.

“Very well,” said the leader, and yawned. “I'm going to get some sleep. You—Sathi and Fethil—take first watch.” The two Dorig he picked on were the two lying down. They sat up sighing. Evidently he was a tartar. “That's better,” said the leader. He lay down in the same way, with his shield as a pillow, and stripped off his gloves. They watched him raise a finger to the Sun before he settled down to sleep.

“I didn't know Dorig did that, too!” Gair said, rather surprised, as the rest of the Dorig not on watch settled down and made the same gesture.

Ayna looked resentfully round the restful ring. “I suppose they've been up all night pretending to be sheep,” she said loudly. “Baaa!” The Dorig took no notice. They simply lay, in a ring round the pool, flattened and frog-like, their gray-silver color blending almost uncannily into the bleached-blond grass. “I've not done much good, have I?” Ayna said.

“It was a good idea,” said Gair.

“But what shall we
do
?”

“I don't know.”

They knelt down in the water. There seemed no point in standing up. The damp crept up their clothes as the Sun rose higher, and they all felt rather too cold. Gnats and midges found them and bit. It was no comfort at all that they also bit the peaceful Dorig. The Moor stretched around, flat, huge and empty. Birds called in the distance. Giant machines droned. Every sound seemed to underline their complete loneliness.

After an hour of kneeling, Ceri took up a scoop of peaty water and gingerly licked it.

“Ceri!” said Ayna.

“I'm thirsty,” Ceri said miserably. “And we're going to die anyway, hung up in the Sun for sacrifices.”

“Shut
up
!” Ayna and Gair said in unison.

Ceri defiantly swallowed water.

“Ceri,” said Ayna, “couldn't you put a Thought on the Dorig? Like you did to Ondo?”

“No,” Ceri said flatly. “I can't.”

“Won't is more like it! Why not?”

“Mother said I wasn't to.” Tears began to pour down Ceri's face. “She said I wasn't to put Thoughts on people. And she's dead and it's sacred.”

Gair jabbed Ayna with his elbow, but Ayna was too desperate to care. “Dorig aren't people, silly!” she almost screamed.

“Oh, aren't we?” called one of the Dorig on watch. “Come over here and find out, Lyman.”

Ayna stared at him, rather shaken. He was propped on one elbow laughing at them. “Lyman!” she muttered. “What kind of cheek is that?”

“I think that's what they always call us,” Gair said.

Ayna could not find words to express what she felt about that. They settled to waiting—none of them knew for what, except that it was better than giving in. The one hope seemed to be that the sentries would fall asleep, too.

Long ages later, when the Sun stood nearly at mid-morning and the damp had crept to their necks, Ayna realized that neither of the sentries had moved for some time. She suddenly felt ridiculous, crouching tensely in a pool of water. The Dorig looked queerly harmless, lying blended with the grass, not moving and almost invisible. Ayna stood up, gently and cautiously. She was about to take a step when she met the yellow eye of one of the sentries. His thin white face was amused. Ayna pretended to be stretching and sat miserably down again.

“That's what they're hoping we'll do,” Gair said, sighing.

Soon after mid-morning, the leader woke up and stretched. He glanced casually at the pond and then gave some kind of signal. The other Dorig sat up. They all produced pouches, with food in them. It was yellowish stuff and came away in soft flaky mouthfuls when the Dorig bit it.

“Oh
Ban
!” said Ceri, watching yearningly.

“It's probably very nasty,” said Ayna.

The leader turned to them. “Smoked trout,” he said. “Want some?”

Their mouths watered. “Yes please,” said Ceri.

“Come on out and we'll give you some,” he answered.

They realized he was tempting them and shook their heads.

“As you please,” said the leader, and bit deeply. “You're being very stupid,” he said, with his mouth full, “even for Lymen. You'll have to come out in the end.”

“Lymen!” Ayna said disgustedly. Ceri's stomach rumbled.

They were glad when the Dorig finished their trout and put their pouches away. Two more were put on watch. The others lay about lazily, exchanging remarks in low voices, laughing and dozing. They seemed to enjoy basking in the Sun. Gair was rather amazed at their lazy, luxurious air, and the way one laughingly pushed another aside when he got in the way of the Sun. It did not seem right, when the Dorig were the ones who were made to live in water, that Gair should be crouching in a pool, wet to the neck, shivering in the mild breeze that whistled through the reedy trees of the spinney. In fact, everything was wrong. The Sun now stood at its highest, nearly as high as it would ever stand in the whole year, which ought to have meant that Gair's people were in the ascendant. Instead—

Ayna nudged Gair and pointed anxiously at Ceri. Ceri was shuddering. His clothes were dark with water and his face was white and pinched. His collar was turning an ominous green-black in places. No doubt it was shock and misery as much as exposure, but Gair saw that there was a chance Ceri would not live to be sacrificed to the Sun.

“Shall we give in?” Ayna whispered.

Gair shook his head. There must be some way they could escape. The trouble was his brain was dimmed with the boredom and misery of sitting here. He could not think. When he did think, it was useless things. It was no use asking Ceri to put a Thought on the Dorig, or on the hunt. He had promised not to. Lucky Ondo, to have gone on the hunt. Aunt Kasta's voice. The voice from the Giantess's magic box was almost as ugly. It— Wait a moment!

“Ceri,” Gair said quietly.

Ceri pushed his chattering teeth together. “Yes?”

“Ceri, can you tell me where that magic box is—the one the Giantess had?” Ayna looked at Gair as if he had suddenly gone mad. “I'm
not
mad,” Gair said. “Can you, Ceri?”

Ceri put his face in his hands. “It's a long way, much farther than I usually— There are quite a lot of magic boxes, Gair. I'm not sure which one.”

“Then is the Giantess with any of them?”

There was a pause. Ceri bowed over, thinking hard. “Oh yes,” he said at last. “I see. She's just come in and picked it up.”

Gair looked cautiously round the Dorig. The two on watch were certainly listening, although the rest seemed to be asleep. He could only hope they did not understand about Finding Sight or Thoughts. He beckoned Ceri and Ayna as close to him as they could get and whispered, “Put a Thought on that box to make it tell the Giantess to come and help us.”

“I'll try,” Ceri whispered. “But is it safe, Gair?”

“Gair!” Ayna whispered. “She's a
Giant
!”

“Anything's safer than sitting here,” Gair said. “She may think we're Giants, too. Don't tell her we're not, Ceri.” He put his mouth close to Ceri's ear and told him exactly what to make the box say.

Ayna, meanwhile, pulled at his sleeve. “But
can
she help?
Will
she?”

Gair had doubts about that. The Giantess had not inspired him with trust. He would have preferred to ask the Giant Gerald, but he did not have the magic box. But it was all he could think of. He pretended not to hear Ayna. “Got that?” he asked Ceri.

Ceri cleaned his ear out with his finger. “Now that's wet, too. All right. I'll try.” He put his hands in the water and knelt on all fours, very quiet and tense. Gair could see from his face that he was finding it difficult. As the minutes trailed on and Ceri did not move, nor did the look of strain on his face alter, Gair saw that he had asked something which was beyond Ceri's power. He saw he would have to persuade Ceri to put a Thought on the Dorig after all, before Ceri's strength gave out completely.

“Well?” Ayna whispered. “Yes or no?”

Ceri relaxed slightly. He seemed puzzled. “Yes—I think.”

“Don't if it's too difficult,” Gair whispered.

Ceri shook his head and sat damply back on his haunches. “I think I did it. It's working by itself now. But the music and things still keep trying to interrupt.”